Some people are supposed to live forever. I know better in my head. But my head isn’t the space where I’m roaming at the moment.
Since 1972, when I first heard him preach, I have looked to Fred Wolfe as my pastor. Over time he became much more than that. He was mentor, friend, and profound encourager. A discipler in his own way. A mentor and coach of preachers, including the dozens of men whom God called into vocational ministry out of his.
I was one of those.
You could always tell when I had spent any time with him – I came away talking just like him. Other people, me included, try to shed the accents of their childhood. Not Brother Fred. He was as true to his South Carolina roots last month as he was when I first heard him. In my eighth-grade reckoning, to me he sounded like Jerry Clower.
You entered our world on a bright, beautiful summer day today, June 18, 2019. I appreciate you being born – now we can officially know what your name is. Picking that has been quite an adventure. Finally, your mom and dad decided they’d know your name when they saw you. Now we all know! And I must add, one look at you and as far as I’m concerned, they could name you anything and it wouldn’t measure up to how beautiful you are.
I want to say yes to the character and call of God. I want to so live my life that His faithfulness shines like the morning sun. I want other people to have confidence in Him because of what they see in me.
I want to say yes to a better tomorrow. I want to charge into the future with expectancy and imagination. I want to tip my hat to the things that make us afraid, then kick the hell out of fears that paralyze us. I want to embrace a freer, more joyful horizon for myself and my world, then take as many people as I can in that direction. [click to continue…]
Woke up this morning thinking about Ethel and Velma. These two ladies, who shared the same last name, lived together. Velma had been married to Ethel’s brother, who had died sometime earlier. Ethel never married. So in their latter years, these two sisters-in-law shared a house, along with a lot of family love and memories.
And quite a love for God.
Whenever I would go see them, it always felt like holy ground. It was that classic case of going to be a blessing and winding up leaving with the greater blessing. Each was in her own way a marvelous encourager, and each in her own way a hell-stopping intercessor.
As time and age took their toll, eventually death came calling, and Ethel answered the door. I went by to see Velma, who had encouraged me so many times, to try to be an encouragement to her. While I was there, someone else came by, and I’ll never forget Velma’s first words to them. In her beautiful Southern drawl, Velma asked rhetorically, “What we gonna do without Ethel?” [click to continue…]
Travel with me to an ancient version of Death Row. A lonely old man sits in isolation – a rare occurrence for a life so well-traveled and surrounded with people. And he awaits his fate.
He’s a dead man walking.
Yet even though his body is scarred and his bones crooked from a hardened life, he doesn’t have the same despair or desperation that’s typical of someone living under a death sentence. In fact, he has – dare I say it? – a sense of satisfaction. Fulfillment. Maybe even a touch of pride.
How do I know? His own words.
For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing (2 Timothy 4:6-8).
Those words from Paul have carried a new fascination for me recently. Here was a man who know what his life was about, and lived it. He followed the course laid out for him, and he finished it.
Put in other language, Paul had a vision, and throughout his life he stubbornly, doggedly, faithfully pursued that vision. Doing so was costly in the short run. He was routinely run out of town, beaten to a pulp, deserted by his friends, and bedeviled by danger. But to him it was a price worth paying, to get to the end of his life with two things: [click to continue…]
Imagine your life as various points on the highway. Fast Lane, Slow Lane, Shoulder, Ditch.
And at any given time, in any given area, you can be in one of those four.
Living in the Fast Lane means you’re getting where you’re going. You’re fulfilling your purpose.
In the Slow Lane you have a lot of movement, but you never quite seem to get there, wherever “there” is.
On the Shoulder, your “engine” is running, but you’re not moving ahead at all.
In the Ditch means you’ve crashed or are stuck, and without help you aren’t going anywhere.
Having punched my card in all four locations, I can tell you we’re all a mixed bag. You can be idling on the shoulder in one area, cruising in another, and crashed out in a third. So let’s break it down a little more. [click to continue…]
Not literally; behind me right now is the back of a chair.
Metaphorically speaking, look behind you, and you’ll probably find somebody following you. They may be following your instructions, following your example, or even following your dreams. They may be following your words and images on social media, but that’s not the same thing.
Look beside you and guess what? You’ll find people following there, too. They may position themselves more as friends or colleagues, but they make sure to stay in your orbit. In NASCAR they call this “side drafting.” And people are probably side drafting you, whether you realize it or not.
Let me pause here to roll my eyes and tell you – again – that even if you don’t think of yourself as a leader, you are. Everybody influences somebody. Somebody looks to you as the person to obey, the example to follow, the partner to collaborate with, or the sense maker in their times of uncertainty or confusion.
That leads to the Big Question then… Where are you leading them?
All you need to do to find the answer to that question is look ahead. [click to continue…]
This photo from December 2013 – People scatter rose pedals during an interfaith graveside memorial service.in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by David McNew/Getty Images)
Suppose you were hosting an event for a crowd north of 1,400 people. Where would you have it?
That’s a pretty serious venue. Unless your name is something like Biltmore, you can probably scratch the back yard or dining room off the list. But hey, your local hotel ballroom may fit the bill. Depending on the nature of the event, a few church houses or large theaters or auditoriums would work.
When was the last time you were part of a crowd that big? I was there a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve got to tell you, it was noticeable. Parking was a bit of a challenge. The venue was a little crowded. The energy was palpable. Lots of noise and excitement.
And no, I’m not referring to a Black Friday sale at Walmart.
But I want to tell you about a different kind of assembly. One where 1,430 people came together and hardly anyone noticed. Parking wasn’t a problem. Noise wasn’t an issue. In fact, all was deathly(!) quiet, at a venue that was shockingly small.
You never know who models his or her life after you. Sure, there are the ten percent who make it clear, but like icebergs, the other ninety are quiet. Below the surface and virtually invisible, but no doubt there.
All the while watching… for a path to follow… a faith to imitate… or a life that’s contagious.
So walk your path authentically. Believe hopefully. Live abundantly, all the while leaving clues for searching hearts to find.
It was a funny exercise. The memory-making type of thing that happens randomly when you spend time hanging out with kids. Or in my case, grandkids.
Laura Kate and Shepherd (#1 and #3 of 9 if you’re keeping score) were in the back seat and we were headed home from a VBS family night. With everybody’s schedule crossways on this particular night, I got to be the “family.” We’d had the program, topped off by some awesome brain-freezing shaved ice. They had played in the bounce houses some, and now we had escaped the Alabama humidity and were back in the truck headed to their house.
We got to talking about different sounds that animals make, and I was asking them if they could imitate them. Then, on a whim, I asked, “Can you imitate Fischer?”
Fischer is their four-year-old little brother.
Laura Kate popped up: “Mama, Shepuhd and Sistuh huht my feewings.”
You just had to be there… It was dead-on and hysterically funny.
We went from that to others, like their parents, but the first one was the hit of the night.
Who doesn’t love a good impression – especially a funny one? And it’s true, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery – even to an 8-year-old.
It’s also a raw demonstration of leadership at a very fundamental level. [click to continue…]
